The Elements of Air and Earth
by MissTempleton
Summary: A visiting English dignitary is taken flying, and Mr Butler insists that Phryne and Jack are there to watch. "You should not rest between the elements of air and earth" - Shakespeare, Twelfth Night.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"No."

"Jack, you don't mean it."

"I do. No."

"But it'll be _fun_."

"For you, perhaps. No."

"Do you want me to go on my own?"

This gave him pause. Last time they had attended a function at the Chief Commissioner's house, there had been press present, and Phryne, let loose on the press, could be something of a hazard. Equally, he didn't want to think about her reaction if he tried to persuade her to send apologies.

For the umpteenth time since he had lost his heart to the Honourable Phryne Fisher, it sank to where his boots would have been, had he been wearing any.

He could only groan.

She knew she'd won. Gracious in victory, she gave him a smacking kiss and slipped out of bed to run herself a bath. He linked his hands behind his head and allowed himself the consolation prize of watching her do so; entirely comfortable in her skin, she set the taps running and then wandered to the wardrobe to select something suitably fabulous for Bill Cooper's guests.

"At times like this, I really miss Dot. How long do you think it'll be before she can come back and help me properly?" she asked in a pensive tone.

"No idea," he admitted. "When do babies become self-sufficient?"

"If they're girls, usually about seven or eight years old, I'd say," she turned to grin at him wickedly, "and if they're boys, never – in my experience."

The Detective Inspector Jack Robinson she'd first known would have been floored by such a riposte. The man she'd so recently married simply raised his eyebrows and gave a slow blink. She conceded his tacit point.

"All right, I admit it – there are _some_ ways in which the male of the species can be handy even to the most capable modern woman."

He sat up, about to offer to demonstrate one such way, but she gave a squeak and ran to attend to the almost-overflowing bath. A moment later, splashing and largely-tuneful singing informed him that Mrs Robinson was At Her Ablutions.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Mr Butler circled the Hispano-Suiza outside the Chief Commissioner's house at a stately pace, and decanted his very elegant passengers before moving off to seek a patch of shade, his pipe and a newspaper.

The Inspector and the Honourable Mrs Robinson (as the wording of their invitation had it) proceeded in an orderly fashion to the conservatory, where their hosts had assembled a suitably entertaining and illustrious selection of Melbourne society to greet the visiting dignitary from England.

Sir Andrew Pallister was holding court in a corner of the room when they arrived, and surrounded by a group which was markedly young and female. Jack kept his counsel when they observed the Englishman's chosen – or perhaps, self-selecting – company, but Phryne wrinkled her nose delicately.

"Don't you think, Jack, that there are few things less attractive in this world than an elderly roué?" she muttered. He couldn't help but agree, and observe that his own spouse was immune to said roué's dubious charms. He helped himself to two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, gave one to Phryne and turned to the gentleman standing near them, who was also eyeing the group around Pallister with a jaundiced expression. His uniform proclaimed his RAAF status, and he introduced himself as Wing Commander Cedric Matthews.

"And that's my wife, Vera," he indicated with his glass. "The blond in pale blue, currently hanging on every word uttered by the cause of this shivoo."

Phryne immediately set herself to defuse the situation by charming the Wing Commander. Jack admired her tactics and contented himself with the role of bystander.

Eventually, Pallister was detached by his hostess from the coterie of female fascination and taken on a tour of the room. When he fetched up at the Robinson group, he was immediately enamoured of the lady. Phryne's response was to give him her 100-watt smile, while at the same time tucking her hand into Jack's arm in a proprietary fashion.

 _Out of your league and unavailable_ could not have been more clearly and charmingly telegraphed if it had been a poster on the front of a ... very charming freight train.

Foiled in his first prey, he turned to the second.

"Wing Commander! I have often wished I knew how to fly. It must be marvellous to be lighter than air," he rhapsodised fulsomely.

Matthews winced and both Jack and Phryne forgave him for failing to suffer this particular fool gladly.

"Heavier. We don't stop being heavier than air, Sir Andrew, we just apply some science to the challenge."

Pallister smirked. Being Incapable of Error, he could afford to.

"Of course, of course, my good man." His expression became calculating. "I don't suppose ... but no, of course not ..."

Fortunately for Pallister, at least one person in the group had manners.

"Would you like me to take you up in one of our kites while you're here?" asked Matthews.

Jack glanced at him sharply – a punch-up at the Chief Commissioner's party looking both undesirable and increasingly probable – but his expression was bland.

Pallister was positively gushing. "My word, would you? That would be ... simply tremendous" he quavered.

"Of course," replied Matthews, with a slight smile. "It would be my pleasure. Would tomorrow around midday suit?"

To give him his due, Phryne thought, Pallister's excitement was genuine. He demonstrated it further by boasting to everyone he subsequently met at the party of the "treat" he was to be given.

She gave Matthews a quizzical look. He returned it inscrutably.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

After a couple of hours, the detectives felt they had done their duty and went to find Mr Butler. They both sank with differing degrees of relief into the back of the Hispano, and automatically linked hands on the seat between them. Their thumbs performed an idle dance.

"Straight home, ma'am?" enquired Mr B, whose ability to switch between his domestic and professional duties was flawless.

"Yes please, Mr B – unless, Jack, should we take you to the station?"

He battled with his conscience, but not for long.

"Collins is there and knows where to find me – and you both know I would infinitely have preferred to be at my desk this afternoon. Home is fine, Mr Butler."

"Jack ..." she whispered. "Am I finally managing to be a bad influence?"

"Miss Fisher," he whispered back, "you were a bad influence the moment I let you duck under my arm to get into a crime scene."

"Tricky party, ma'am?" asked Mr Butler, glancing into the mirror. Decorum was restored – one did not treat Mr B as Part Of The Furniture.

"Not at all, Mr B, lovely party – tricky guest of honour. I'm not sure what Sir Andrew Pallister did in the war but his efforts to maintain peaceful relations between England and Australia leave a bit to be desired. _MR BUTLER_! "

This was in response to the nearest thing the Hispano had ever experienced to an Actual Crash – which given that Miss Fisher was the person most often at the wheel was saying something. It was certainly unusual for Mr Butler to have driven straight on to a junction without so much as a weather eye for other vehicles, even in this relatively quiet part of Toorak.

To his credit, he reacted not in the slightest to the screech from the back seat, immediately to the threat from the vehicle approaching from his off side, and appropriately for the circumstances.

It helped that the people in the back seat were already well acquainted with one another and didn't mind a bit being forced into a close embrace.

Nothing further was said until the handbrake had been applied outside 221B The Esplanade, but at that stage, Miss Fisher felt entitled to explore the possibility that all was not well with Mr Butler. Mr Butler politely disclaimed any issue, helped her out of the car and quietly drove it away to garage it for the night.

Mr and Mrs Robinson were left on the pavement, looking at one another, perplexed.

"What brought that on, Jack?"

"It could only have been the mention of Pallister. But why on earth the name should be so dreadful to our Mr Butler as to cause him to lose all sense of place and time … given what you've thrown at him since he came to work for you …" Jack shook his head in disbelief and, to give her her due, Phryne didn't argue. If anything, she took pride in being a caring-but-difficult employer. She took his hand and led him to her – no, their – front door. _Still getting used to that. Silly, really_.

As he reached for his key, she murmured in his ear, "He's clearly decided not to tell us, so I don't see the point in pressing the poor man."

As the door swung wide, and they heard the kitchen door opening, she said in normal tones, "I think what I'd like most of all is for you to play the piano, Mr Robinson, if you would. Something calming and sensible after such a strange afternoon."

He hung his hat and coat and moved, as instructed to the piano – but instead of the jazz number she'd expected, picked carefully through Bach's C major Prelude, easy enough to do from memory.

It was probably his imagination that a shadow appeared in the hallway. It definitely wouldn't have been the presence of a very intelligent man appreciating Thinking Music.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

It was a clear day, and Point Cook was practically deserted when the ceremonial party arrived for Sir Andrew's little jolly. It was a low-key affair – only the Mayor, the Chief Commissioner (acting social secretary) and a few hangers-on were in attendance to watch Wing Commander Matthews take the Englishman for a spin. Detective Inspector Jack Robinson and the Hon Phryne Fisher were there purely because they had nothing else to do at the time (after all, what else were Thursday afternoons for?).

The fact that Mr Butler had felt it important for them to attend as soon as he heard the event was taking place was immaterial, and he drove them there himself. He then sat in the Hispano enjoying a pipe. Jack was a bit jealous of that, if truth be told – not the pipe, just the ability to escape the unedifying scene of the privileged classes shaking each other by the hand prior to enjoying some privileges.

"Remind me, why did we come along to this?" he muttered to Phryne as they exhibited matching saccharine smiles from their position leaning against the car's elegant wheel-arch.

"Jack, all I know is that Mr B said he would pack us a picnic. He said it very firmly, so I realised that meant we would be here," she hissed back. "Look on the bright side – it's one of Mr Butler's picnics".

Mollified, he leaned back against the car, stuck his hands in his pockets, and contented himself with wasting otherwise valuable time standing next to the most fabulous extant example of Christendom, who also happened to be his wife.

The Moth took off.

"I must say, I'm impressed with Matthews," remarked Phryne, taking her binoculars from her eyes once take-off was accomplished. "If I was going to take someone for a joyride, I'd probably try to avoid it being Pallister."

She returned her gaze to the plane.

"Oh well, he can get a lovely view of our city from a few thousand feet, which is probably all he wants anyway."

Then she straightened, and her nose twitched in amusement. "Oh, hel-lo! A tidy little roll. Well done, Wing Commander!"

Jack glanced back to the plane, and saw it inverted, half way through a clinically-executed roll. "I don't suppose," he asked delicately, "the Wing Commander could simply have been trying to make Sir Andrew lose his breakfast?"

Phryne looked across at him with barely-hidden glee.

"It's got to be a possibility, and one I think we can all applaud, Jack, don't you?"

She returned her gaze to the skies, and smiled in satisfaction as the plane swept a broad curve above the western fringe of the city, before heading back towards the airfield. Just as it was coming overhead once more, it turned nose up, and began an elegant circular climb on a vertical axis.

"Oooh!" Phryne was pure admiration now. "He's going to loop. No reason why not, after all, the Moth's up to it. Good for him! But … hang on, what's that?"

Jack was already running.

Something had fallen from the plane just as it passed the apex of the circle it was describing in the air. It appeared to hit the tail of the Moth a glancing blow before descending to the ground, and the aircraft, rather than completing its loop, rolled back to upright.

The something had waving arms. Also legs.

Both arms and legs ceased to wave quite quickly, as their owner perhaps comprehended the most likely subsequent event.

The element of air may have embraced him, but the element of earth proved unforgiving in its welcome to Sir Andrew Pallister.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The plane taxied to a standstill, and Matthews jumped out, tearing off his helmet as he ran towards the party grouped around the body.

"Is he ..?" the pilot asked, but the question was a hopeless one. Pallister would have died as soon as he hit the ground.

Jack turned to him. "Why wasn't he wearing the harness?"

"But he was!" Matthews exclaimed. "At least, he was when we did the roll. He loved it, gave me a massive thumbs up, so I thought we'd throw in a loop too. I don't understand. He can't have undone it, that would be lunacy."

Phryne had started to run towards the plane even as the first words were out of Matthews' mouth. Climbing up to the look into the forward cockpit where Pallister had been sitting, she picked up the webbing harness and examined it.

"Inspector!" she called. Jack came to join her. "Look," she said quietly. "The webbing's been sliced through, then stitched back very roughly here. It would have looked normal, but have been much weakened." Their eyes met.

"Assuming Pallister was the target, someone knew he was going up in this plane today, and had access to it beforehand to sabotage the harness," concluded Jack. He jumped down to the ground and walked back to join Matthews.

"Matthews, I need to know the names of everyone here who could possibly have known you were taking Pallister up in that plane today. And while you're at it, I'd institute a check on every single harness in every single plane, in case the sabotage we've just discovered was perpetrated on them all. Whoever did this may not have known which plane would be used."

Matthews nodded. "I'll come up with a list, and go and check the rest of the fleet now, myself."

He turned to go, but Jack put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Matthews, but you need to wait until one of my men can accompany you."

The airman looked at him, confused, then light dawned. And anger.

"Robinson, you can't honestly think I did this."

Jack shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think. The fact is, you could have done, so we have to assume there's a possibility you did, until we are able to prove otherwise. So, I'd be grateful if you'd wait here until – ah, here they come now." As he spoke, the police car drove across the airfield towards them, and as soon as it stopped, two men leaped out.

One of them was Senior Constable Collins, so Jack called him over and instructed him to accompany Matthews to the Moth, to examine the sabotage of the harness, and then to the hangar to check the rest of the fleet.

"Then report back to me immediately, Collins – what you find will affect our list of suspects."

Collins nodded, and followed Matthews back to the Moth.

Jack returned to the group of VIPs still congregated around the body, and asked them politely if they would mind moving back a little to let his man record it. As they did so, he braced himself to question the Chief Commissioner. Given that the last time he'd performed such an exercise, the gentleman in question had been a) his former father in-law and b) guilty as sin, his apprehension was understandable. William Cooper, however, was a very different proposition, and himself suggested that he provide Jack with a list of the previous day's guests.

"After all," he remarked bitterly, "once Matthews had offered to take Pallister up, the wretched man was boasting to everyone who would listen."

Clearly, the rules about Speaking Ill of the Dead could be suspended occasionally.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Phryne, meanwhile, had wandered off to the hangar in search of aviators – or at the very least, a mechanic or two. In her experience, there was always some oil-covered individual to be found at an airfield.

She drew a blank in the hangar itself, where Collins and Matthews were methodically working their way through checking each of the aircraft, but ran her quarry to earth in the workshop at the back of the hangar. Two overalled individuals were engrossed in an engine.

"Afternoon, gentlemen," she called cheerfully. Two heads were raised and turned to look at her suspiciously. "Phryne Fisher, Detective. Can I have a word?" She stuck out a hand to the nearer of the two, who automatically reached to shake it, before recollecting himself, glancing down at the oiliness of the member, and making do with a slight nod. Phryne grinned understandingly.

"Jed," he introduced himself succinctly. Then, with a jerk of the head, "That's Larry."

"I was here to see the Englishman go up with the Wing Commander," she informed them. "I'm afraid there's been an accident." At this, she had their full attention and they were all set to rush to the scene. She held up a hand. "The plane's fine – mostly – but before the accident happened, there were some pretty impressive aerobatics going on. I was surprised to see a Moth managing the stress of a slow roll."

Jed jerked his head in confirmation, "That'll be the Wing Commander's kite. He's strengthened the fuselage a fair bit, to make it better able to handle aerobatics."

"Ah, that would explain it," remarked Phryne calmly. "Sadly, the strengthening wasn't applied to the front seat harness – quite the opposite. Who might have had access to the hangar since yesterday afternoon, do you know?"

They exchanged glances, and shrugged. "Anyone, really," said Jed. "The hangar's not locked. We finished up at around five in the afternoon, and the place was empty when we left, but if you wanted to get in overnight, there's not much to stop you." He raised his eyebrows. "After all, most of the folk who could fly one of these are the people who own them."

"When did you find out that the Wing Commander was taking Sir Andrew for a spin?" she asked.

Larry decided it was time he took an active role in proceedings.

"S'morning."

With the air of one who had completed a maiden address in Parliament House, he sat back and nodded firmly. Phryne thanked him warmly for his help, and wondered whether Jed and he had been near the plane during the course of the morning – they confirmed that they had not (or rather, in Jed's words, that they had been far too bloody busy to play nursemaid to the Wing Commander's baby).

Satisfied that she had learned all she could for the moment, she thanked them again and strolled back to the car, where Jack was waiting.

"Would I be right in assuming that you have just been undertaking an investigation not mandated by the police department, Miss Fisher?" He was, she noticed, getting worse and worse at the stern glance, and decided to pour balm on his professional wound.

"You would, Inspector, and I do hope you will forgive me. I have, I believe, found out some quite useful information."

"In that case, Miss Fisher, why not step into my office?" He opened the door of the Hispano and gestured to her grandly to enter. When they were both seated, and sharing some of the picnic Mr Butler had unpacked for them, they compared notes.

"You first, Jack – I think there's something you might have that I need."

He gave her A Look.

She gave him A Withering Stare.

"Specifically, Detective Inspector," at her most formal in response to a form of wit which was, frankly, beneath him – _no, not that, oh, for heavens' sake_ , _focus on the task in hand, Phryne_ "were any of the other planes tampered with?"

He relented. "No, Miss Fisher, they were not."

She gave the smuggest smile she knew.

"In that case, Detective Inspector, you can narrow down your search to the people who knew that the Moth belonged to Wing Commander Matthews. It was his own plane, strengthened to enable it to perform some fairly limited aerobatics. So, the chances of him taking a guest up in anything else would be slim to none."

As a reward, he forked up some of Mr Butler's special gratin and presented it formally – or as formally as a policeman could, in the back of an Hispano-Suiza and in the absence of a Royal Herald.

It was rather later when they arrived back at 221B The Esplanade, that Phryne bethought herself of another question that needed asking. As Mr Butler deployed the cocktails for her and Jack, she halted him with her glass raised.

"Mr Butler."

"Miss?"

"Are you going to tell us now _precisely_ what the issue is relating to the deceased? It's more than a little coincidental for you to have such a pronounced reaction to Pallister's name in the car yesterday, and to have insisted so strongly that we be there today, at the time that he just happens to be murdered?"

Mr Butler pursed his lips.

"I shall have to think about it, Miss," he declared.

This did not suit Miss Fisher one little bit. "What is there to think about? The man's been murdered, Mr B, you can't just pick and choose whether to help the investigation." She appealed to the Inspector, "Jack tell him!"

Jack concurred mildly. "If there's anything you know that helps us find Pallister's killer, Mr Butler, you really should tell us."

Mr Butler's expression was pained. "My difficulty is that all I have is really hearsay, and so far from helping the investigation, I might both hinder it and slander an innocent person." He straightened up. "If you will forgive me, Inspector, I will have to say nothing for the moment. There is one thing it occurs to me that I may be able to do, which will clarify the position. If I may be allowed a couple of hours off in the morning, Miss, I should be able to resolve the matter."

"By all means, Mr Butler, take all day if necessary," said Phryne. "I've got a lunch appointment I want to make, but I can go to the Windsor for that." He bowed his thanks and shimmered off to the kitchen.

"I'm seeing a new side to your Mr Butler," remarked Jack. "And what's this about a lunch appointment?"

She eyed him in what could only be described as a wary fashion.

"I … need to consult an expert on something that's puzzling me," she said carefully.

"Oh? In what field?" he enquired, equally carefully.

"Er … aviation," she replied with just slightly too much nonchalance.

All became clear.

"This expert – would it by any chance be a certain Group Captain of our acquaintance?" Jack asked with a faint smile.

"It might," she admitted.

"Please pass on my regards," was all he said, though.

Phryne was clearly taken aback. Where was the jealous, territorial Jack who had first met Group Captain Compton and taken him in instant dislike?

Though he played a poker face, Jack was smirking inside; and decided he could milk the situation further.

"Perhaps I should come along? I don't have anything planned," he suggested.

"YES!" she replied overenthusiastically. Then realised she may have gone too far. "I mean, by all means. Do." Politely.

He relented. "Phryne, please don't worry. I'm teasing you – enjoy lunch with Lyle Compton and please come and see me as soon as you can afterwards to tell me what you've discovered."

Palpable relief was closely followed by very feminine rage. He enjoyed it enormously and dinner had to be put back by almost half an hour.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The following day, three investigators went their separate ways from 221B with differing degrees of alacrity.

Jack (after the usual challenge of leaving Mrs Robinson in the early hours of the morning, her efforts to bind him to her boudoir becoming ever more inventive and on one memorable occasion, quite literal) took the list provided by Bill Cooper of guests at the Pallister party and called upon Wing Commander Matthews, with Senior Constable Collins in tow.

The couple lived in a neat little house in Richmond, but it took a few minutes for anyone to answer the door. Jack was reaching to ring the bell a second time when a clearly flustered Matthews answered it himself. Behind him, Jack caught sight of the pretty, blond wife (Velma? Vera, that was it) turning to scurry up the stairs. He didn't think he was mistaken in seeing tears in her eyes.

"Sorry to bother you, Matthews, but I wondered if I could go through the party guest list with you?"

"Of course, Inspector, please – come in."

All courtesy, he showed them to a tidy, if rather cluttered sitting room. He gestured for them to sit, but Jack remained on his feet for a moment.

"Matthews, I must apologise – I couldn't help noticing your wife seems upset?"

The Wing Commander concealed his impatience poorly. "Really, it's nothing, Inspector. She is a little overcome at the news of Pallister's death, that's all. Which is ridiculous given that she only met the man for the first time the day before yesterday. Women!" came the exasperated exclamation.

Above all an honest man, Jack was unable to deny his sympathy with the sentiment, and decided to capitalise upon it.

"He was quite a hit with several of the ladies at the party, I recall – did you know any of the others?"

"Just one of them," admitted Matthews. "The little redhead you may have noticed is the wife of my Squadron Leader, Ed Wright – name's Evie." Jack cast his mind back, and recalled a tall, prematurely balding airman to whom he'd been briefly introduced. "Evie and Vera are friendly, do a lot together." Barely-hidden irritation bubbled to the surface again. "The first thing Vera did when she heard Pallister was dead was telephone Evie."

"I'm sure it was a great shock to everyone," remarked Jack politely. He was starting to find Matthews' attitude to Pallister's death more interesting. Was the man really so oblivious to the suspicion that must hang over him? He decided to test a theory.

"After all, Pallister did a great deal for both Britain and Australia – he was a major influence in the war, I understand? Served on the front line, and received battle honours?"

Matthews was plainly unimpressed.

"Received battle honours and escaped entirely unscathed. What does that tell you, Inspector?"

"That he was either smart, lucky or both?" suggested Jack mildly.

Apparently this was the point at which it did become inappropriate to speak ill of the dead, because Matthews immediately clammed up. A "Perhaps" was all that could be drawn from him and, deciding that he'd gleaned all he could, Jack pulled out the guest list and settled to the tedious task of checking each name with the Wing Commander. Only a handful, according to Matthews, had ever visited the airfield.

Within half an hour, the Inspector and Collins were back in the car.

"Where to, sir?"

"The station, Collins. I said I'd be there for Miss Fisher and Mr Butler when they completed their own enquiries, and I want to work through the connections we've made so far."

Collins let in the clutch and Jack stared unseeingly out of the window. Just how jealous a man was Cedric Matthews?


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Compton was already at the table when Phryne arrived in the restaurant at the Windsor. He stood to greet her, and they bussed cheeks with genuine affection.

"It's Mrs Robinson these days, I hear?" he remarked lightly, with a teasing smile.

"It is," said Phryne composedly.

"So, not so much ballast as all that, it turns out?"

She cast her mind back to the time she'd made that observation to Compton at a very warm reunion, despite the draughtiness of its location in another aircraft hangar, and smiled reminiscently.

"We didn't get the chance to load any on board, in the event – which is perhaps for the best." She gave him a direct look.

"You may wish me happy, Lyle. I certainly plan to be."

He raised his glass in solitary toast.

"As happy as you deserve, Phryne – which is very, very happy indeed." He sipped his champagne and replaced the glass on the table, at which point the waiter came to take their order. A chilled Vichyssoise and Tournedos Rossini were agreed upon, and then Compton leaned back in his chair, surveying his lunch companion quizzically.

"You said you had some questions for me. So, ask away, Mrs Robinson."

She decided to refrain from telling him she'd retained her maiden name for professional purposes – after all, it was going so well – and leaned forward, elbows on the table in a manner that would have infuriated her decorous Aunt Prudence and chin on her fists.

"How are you on aerobatics, Lyle?"

He inclined his head.

"I've done a little. It can be fun seeing what the frame will take. Why?"

She frowned into middle distance. "There's something I'm not entirely happy with about the case we're currently working on, and I wanted to check with someone who knows."

"Phryne, pity a poor flyboy – I can't keep up with you and Jack in your detection activities and well you know it!" he pleaded.

She laughed. "Believe me, Lyle, you are far more expert than Jack or me on this one."

She explained the events of the previous day, and as she outlined the way in which the death had occurred, his brow furrowed. Noticing it, she nodded.

"You're thinking the same thing as I am, aren't you? The centrifugal force should have been just enough to keep Pallister in his seat at the top of the loop?"

"Yes, but …" he waved her to silence for a moment, lost in thought. Then he inclined his head, alert. "What did the pilot do after the body fell?"

She tasted the soup and thought back. "Rotated straight back to level flight. Had a bit of a battle to do it, I think. And remember, the body struck the tail on the way down."

He pursed his lips.

"There's a way he could have done it. Think it through, Phryne. Over a normal loop, you're being very lightly pushed into your seat in the top of the loop – you're almost floating over the top while upside down. You would stay in your seat. If the pilot wanted to eject the passenger, though, a little push on the stick would turn the light positive force into a negative one, and the passenger would fall."

They were both silent for a moment, absorbing and checking the science, and then her eyes were on him, shining in a way that made him wholeheartedly regret that bloody Jack Robinson's luck.

"So the pilot almost _had_ to have been complicit for it to have happened the way it did? It couldn't just have been an accident as it looked?"

"If the passenger had fallen during the roll, that would have looked more like an accident. But if the harness had withstood that, and the pilot decided he had to have another go, and didn't want to risk the frame in another roll, this would be a way to do it." Compton shook his head in unwilling respect. "It would take a helluva pilot with a helluva nerve, mind you."

"I think we may only be starting to understand how much of a nerve the pilot had, Lyle – thank you."

If Jack could have witnessed Phryne's demeanour for the remainder of the lunch, he would have laughed long and loud. Not since she had hopped from foot to foot on John Andrews' stairs had she so poorly hidden a wish to be elsewhere. However, she did her level best to be charming; to express interest in Compton's latest endeavours; she even ended up resorting to The Weather as a topic of conversation, albeit one that aviators were generally amenable to discussing, as a major bane of their lives.

Coffee drunk and bill paid, she parted fondly from Group Captain Compton.

Her pace through the foyer of the Windsor could only have been described as a sprint, and the Hispano mostly remained on the road during the journey to City South. If a costermonger's toe was slightly flattened at one point, no-one but the tradesman himself was rude enough to mention it (although he was _quite_ rude, not only about Phryne but also her parents, who he appeared to have known but doubted their marital status).


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

A whirlwind erupted into City South police station, and this time didn't even bother checking with Hugh Collins whether the Inspector was In.

" _Jack!_ " she exclaimed as she burst through his office door.

"Miss Fisher," he responded politely, and almost didn't flinch at all as she took a more than usually flying leap on to the corner of his desk. Her skirt was so caught as to be showing a really rather indecent expanse of thigh, but he didn't want to put her off her stride by mentioning such a trivial fact.

"He did it, Jack! Must have done!"

" _Who_ did _what_ , Miss Fisher? Although if you're referring to Cedric Matthews and the murder of Sir Andrew Pallister, he was already on a shortlist of two likely suspects, and the other was his own Squadron Leader."

"But he actually _had_ to have done it – or at least been complicit in someone else's plot, Jack. Listen, I'll explain."

She ran rapidly through a lesson in the physics and practise of aviation. Not for an instant would Jack have admitted that he was clinging on to the argument by his metaphorical fingertips

When she finally ran down and looked at him eagerly for confirmation, he shook his head.

"Jack, what? How can you possibly think Matthews didn't do it?"

"Miss Fisher, I don't for a moment think he's innocent. We have this quaint tradition in law enforcement, though. We need to show means, opportunity – and motive. Are you really going to tell me that Cedric Matthews killed Pallister for flirting with his wife?"

A deprecating cough was heard in the doorway.

"I think I may be able to help with that, Inspector."

Mr Butler was standing outside, with Hugh Collins at his shoulder. Jack greeted him, and invited him to take the available seat at the desk. Miss Fisher took the Inspector's. The Inspector took up post propped against a filing cabinet.

The older man spoke again.

"Does Messines mean anything to you, Miss Fisher?"

"I wasn't there, but yes – near Ypres?" She looked to Jack for confirmation, and he nodded.

"There were Australian forces at Messines," he stated.

"There were," agreed Mr Butler, "but in this case, it was an Aussie lad in a British battalion. He'd travelled to England before the war with relatives, and although he was too young to join up when war first broke out, he eventually joined up there. I only heard the story when we of the 2nd Battalion AIF were camped on Salisbury Plain, waiting to be repatriated to Australia after the war."

He continued the tale. "Losses had been huge, and one of the things that the generals did to try to strengthen their forces was to make sure every company – even down to platoon level – had some experienced men alongside the raw recruits. If there was an old hand there, casualties were fewer – there weren't so many silly mistakes, for a start."

Jack interrupted.

"Mr Butler, Messines was one of the more successful operations, I thought?"

The man nodded. "It was indeed, Inspector. We'd tunnelled extensively and planted explosives under the German positions, which meant that by the time the infantry advanced there was almost no opposition; except that one Captain misread a map, the tunnel was misplaced and there was a machine gun post left completely unscathed and in a commanding position."

He regarded them calmly.

"Rather than send a mixed troop to take the machine gun post, the Captain sent one group of men to attack it directly from the front. That group was made up of almost entirely inexperienced raw recruits. The experienced men were sent in a flanking movement, and successfully captured the objective."

Jack could barely whisper it. "Those new recruits must have been wiped out. It would be like sending out a young, green, Forlorn Hope party."

"Yes, Inspector. There were no survivors. Among the dead was an eighteen-year-old Australian, one Edmund Matthews. My research this morning confirmed that he was in that group, and also that he was the younger brother of the Wing Commander."

Phryne asked quietly, "and the name of the Captain?"

"Captain Andrew Pallister, Miss."

She looked up at Jack. "I think Mr Butler's discovered that elusive motive, Inspector – don't you?"

The prospect of arresting Matthews weighed heavy on him, but Jack nodded. Thanking Mr Butler, he left the office, to collect Hugh Collins and drive to Richmond.


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Have you ever thought of learning to fly, Jack?"

They were sharing a whisky by the fireside, sitting at opposite ends of her couch, her toes tucked under her, his head resting on his hand.

He gave her a sideways glance. "Not really. Have you ever thought of learning to ride a motorcycle?"

"You could teach me. And I could teach you to fly. If you wanted."

"I think as a first step, I would need to actually go up in an aeroplane." He gave her a solemn look. "After all, what if I turn out to be airsick?

"Jack! I didn't realise you'd never flown at all? Now, that is a wrong that's begging to be rectified." She drained her glass and set it down, as though she would drag him to the airfield that very instant.

He, too, finished his drink, and stood up. "It was Friedrich Nietzsche who said 'He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.'"

He smiled down at her and offered his hand.

"In the absence of an aeroplane, Mrs Robinson, may I have this dance?"

She accepted his hand with a sparkling glance.

Music proved unnecessary.


End file.
